


Oh, Christmas Tree… (Behind the door: day 9)

by DoctorBilly



Series: Behind the door: Advent calendar2014 [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Sherstrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2743616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorBilly/pseuds/DoctorBilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day 9 of my Advent Calendar for 2014. Prompts are from locations behind the <a href="http://www.safestyle-windows.co.uk/secret-door/index.html">Secret Door</a></p><p>Sherlock makes a mistake on a case</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, Christmas Tree… (Behind the door: day 9)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this wearing my Sherstrade glasses…
> 
> If the image doesn't show up on your device, you can see it [ here ](http://doctor-billy.tumblr.com/post/104747163478/behind-the-door-day-9-cutty-sark)

 

It had started out just like any other case. Lestrade had texted him. He had ignored the text. Lestrade had texted again, then giving up, he had jogged up the stairs at Baker Street.

"Will you come?"

"Give me the address. I'll meet you there."

' _There_ ' had been an unusual crime scene. A body suspended in mid-air, hanging from the mast of what was probably the world's most famous tall ship.

Sherlock had been keen to look at the body in situ, and had climbed the mast, taking the obvious precautions of removing his long coat and donning safety gear. The last thing he remembered was leaning out to look at the rappelling device the victim had used…

 

*********

 

"Are you holding my hand, Lestrade?"

His voice is croaky, surprising him. His mouth is very dry and his throat is sore. Lestrade jumps, but instead of dropping the hand he is holding, he grips it tighter.

"How do you feel?"

"Sore throat. What happened? Did I fall?"

"Yeah. And your descender failed. You were lucky there were a bunch of us there to catch you. You would have hit the deck if you'd been on your own."

"The _victim's_ kit hadn't failed. There was no friction burning on the rope. His descent was controlled. Lestrade, I need to check my own rig…"

"Later. Need to get you sorted, first."

"What's wrong with me?"

"Don't know yet. Waiting for the results of your scans. Could be some fractures, joint damage…"

"I ache. A lot."

"Yeah. Well, I told them you were allergic to morphine…"

"Oh, thank you for that."

"Don't be sarky. You _will_ thank me later when you don't have withdrawal."

"And you're holding my hand to stop me running away?"

"Try again…"

"Oh."

 

*********

 

"I turn my back for a minute, and you…"

"Ah, Lestrade. There you are."

"Yeah. And here _you_ are. Why are you here?"

"To look at the evidence, obviously."

"Well yeah. Obviously. Why aren't you still  in hospital?"

"My scans were clear. You had left. I discharged myself."

"I left for half an hour. _Half an hour,_ Sherlock. Why didn't you text me?"

"You knew where I would be. Obviously."

"Yeah." Lestrade's sigh is resigned. "Have you found anything?"

"Yes. There was some swelling in his airway. The cause of death was anaphylaxis. It was an accident, Lestrade. He was allergic to the resin of Norway Spruce."

"Christmas tree?"

"Yes. He was engaged in fixing it to the top of the mast. It's a tradition, apparently. They put one up there every year."

"Wouldn't he have known he was allergic?"

"Not necessarily. So many people use artificial trees now, he might never have come into contact with a real tree. And even if he had, it would likely have been a Nordmann. That's a fir tree, not a spruce. The needles don't drop. Different resin…"

Lestrade nods.

"Fair enough. But what about your own accident?"

Sherlock flushes.

"Human error. My own."

"What?"

"I made a mistake, Lestrade."

Lestrade stares

"You look foolish with your mouth open like that, Gary."

"Greg. And did you just admit you made a mistake?"

"I am human…"

"Are you? Sorry. That was mean."

"Yes, it was. Why did you say something mean?"

"To stop myself saying something angry. You fucked up. You could have died…" 

"I didn't."

Lestrade grips Sherlock's shoulders tightly.

"Don't be so blasé about it. I could have lost you…"

"You didn't."

Lestrade flexes his fingers, shaking Sherlock a little. "

Don't ever do anything so stupid again…"

"I didn't _think_ I was doing anything stupid this time. I don't _plan_ to do stupid things."

"Reckless, then. You take unnecessary risks. It terrifies me."

"I wouldn't be me if I didn't. You need me to be like this."

"I need you to be alive, Sherlock."

"Obviously. And I am. Will you give me a lift home?"

"Yeah. Come on. I need to pick up a Christmas tree on the way."

**Author's Note:**

> Cutty Sark really does get a tree on her top mast at Christmas. I have no idea how they get it up there.


End file.
